


Sophomore Stump and the Comeback of the Year

by acareeroutofrobbingbanks



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Excessive Swearing, Happy Ending, High School, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Overprotective Pete, cursing, patrick is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acareeroutofrobbingbanks/pseuds/acareeroutofrobbingbanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Prompt: Patrick is the nerdy (yet stubborn as hell) sophomore who gets picked on because he's gay/short/just because he exists, and Pete is his wildly over protective college student boyfriend, so every day Patrick tries to hide his injuries from Pete, insisting that he can handle it, because he doesn't want Pete to worry, and is way too stubborn to admit he needs help (and of course Pete's having none of that)</p>
<p>Angstier than I intended it to be? But still a stupid sappy happy ending because I'm me</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sophomore Stump and the Comeback of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for use of slurs pertaining to sexual orientation and physical ability.

              “Faggot!”

              Patrick sighed. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was or who it was being yelled at. Because it was always him. The same group of boys, and always yelling at Patrick. He spun around, slamming his locker shut so that no one could steal his books, lunch, wallet, or what have you. This whole bullying thing was mostly getting old. So Patrick gritted his teeth and spun around.

              “You rang?” he said, grimacing up at the jock. The well-muscled boy growled, cracking his knuckles.

              “Ready to get your face punched in?” he asked.

              “But then you won’t have anything pretty to look up at when you’re sucking my dick,” Patrick said.

              In retrospect, when Patrick woke up in the nurse’s office with his face throbbing, perhaps insulting the two-hundred-and-something pound athlete wasn’t the best ideas. But his masculinity was so easy to threaten, and Patrick needed something to get him through the long school days. Usually all he had to entertain himself with was texting-

              Pete.

              SHIT.

              Patrick whipped his phone out of his pocket, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it. Thank God his phone hadn’t broken. Hey, it even looked like his glasses survived, that was nice. But he had more than ten missed texts flashing on the screen, all from Pete in increasing levels with panic as time went on. Patrick groaned. He hated lying to his boyfriend, but what could he do, tell him the truth?

              Checking to make sure the nurse was out of the room, Patrick called Pete.

              “‘Trick? Baby? Are you okay?” Pete’s voice rang out shrill from the phone, and Patrick winced at the noise.

              “I’b fide, Pede,” Patrick said, then cringed. His nose, dammit, it was always something.

              “Are you sick?” Pete asked.

              “Baybe?” Patrick said. Blood was running down his nose and onto his chin. He tried to wipe some of it off, but only aggravated the injury, and whimpered in pain as he put too much pressure on his already sore nose.

              “Baby, talk to me, what’s wrong?” Pete pleaded.

              “Dothing!” Patrick insisted, stumbling off the cot and looking around the room in the hopes of finding a kleenex to mop himself up with before he bled all over his shirt. “I’b sorry, I forgot to tell you, I was id a lab today for bio,” he lied. “No phones allowed.”

              Patrick grinned triumphantly when he found the box of tissues, pressing a handful up against his nose. Though, looking down, his shirt was already bloodied beyond repair. Oh well. His mom had an industrial bottle of hydrogen peroxide at home for just this reason.

              “Oh, sorry,” Pete sounded guilty. “I guess I overreacted.”

              “No, no, not at all,” Patrick assured him. “You were scared, that’s dormal,” he said, and could practically feel the frown coming from the other end of the line.

              “You’re not usually so - so calm about all this,” Pete said suspiciously.

              “Pete,” Patrick said. He massaged his temples. He wanted to protest, but didn’t want to further dig his own grave, so he stayed silent.

              “Can I still see you after school today?” Pete asked. “Oh, also, how are you calling?”

              “Not in class right now,” Patrick said, glancing at the nurse’s back. “Look, I gotta go- I’ll see you after school, okay?”

              “Okay,” Pete sounded unhappy. “Bye, then.”

              Patrick let out a deep sigh of relief when he hung up. He loved Pete with all his heart, but the overprotectiveness was almost as stifling as it was pointless.

              Freshman year wasn’t so bad. Pete couldn’t be around all the time, but Popular-Senior-Soccer-Star-Pete-Wentz was a big enough threat that Patrick was virtually untouchable. But Pete got a scholarship, and now that he was gone, Patrick got daily black eyes. And for as righteously angry as Pete got, there was nothing to be done. Worse, and what Patrick tried to keep from him, most of the guys shoving him into lockers were friends with Pete back Before.

Patrick never understood that bit- he only ever got called a fag, beat up for being gay, but Pete had been open, and it was totally different. He was a paragon, beloved by the jocks and the GSA alike. And Patrick was doing his best. He had a countdown of days till graduation, an expiration free doctor’s note out of gym class, and wore average clothes. Plus, big scary college boyfriend coming to school to visit every other day didn’t hurt his reputation at all.

              “Can I head back to class?” Patrick called into the back room. The nurse bustled out, glaring Patrick down.

              “No, I’m afraid you can’t, Mr. Stump,” he said. “I called your mother and she’s on her way to take you to the hospital.”

              Patrick could feel all the blood evaporate from his body, and started shaking his head before he realized he was shaking his head.

              “No, no, no!” Patrick yelled, panic rapidly replacing the space in his veins where blood had been. “Th-thanks for your concern, but I hardly think that’s necessary-” he began, and the nurse cut him off with an icy glare.

              “You were unconscious for nearly twenty minutes, and you’re lucky we waited to call an ambulance,” the nurse said. “You have a concussion, probably a serious one. We already reviewed the security tapes in the hall, and the students responsible are being dealt with.”

              “Oh, Christ,” Patrick whimpered. It was way, way worse than he thought. If anyone got suspended, he was going to have hell to pay whenever they got back. He stared down at his phone, knowing that he wasn’t going to be free at 3:00 anymore.

              Patrick was about to call Pete back, apologize and say he couldn’t hang out, something had come up, when his mother burst through the door of the nurse’s office, worked into a panic and refusing to give Patrick room to breathe as she dragged him out to the car. In between answering his worried mom and getting a light shone into his eyes by a doctor, there were a few minutes of waiting room time in which Patrick texted Pete a bare bones “ _in the hospital, nothing serious, might be late_.”

              Patrick wasn’t at all surprised to see Pete sitting next to his mom in the waiting room when he got out of the doctor’s office.

              “Pete,” Patrick began, eyes down, embarrassed at being caught in the lie, but was cut off abruptly by Pete’s hug knocking the wind out of him.

              “Pete-!” Patrick gasped, struggling in his grasp. “I can’t breathe!”

              Pete let go, and he looked up at Patrick in an expression of fear.

              “You got knocked out!” Pete accused, and Patrick winced, glaring at his mom.

              “Word gets around fast,” he muttered.

              “Pete, dear,” Patrick’s mom said, sensing conflict and immediately trying to run from it. “I have to pick up some groceries, would you mind driving Patrick home?”

              “Not at all,” Pete said darkly, and led Patrick out to the parking lot.

              “I’m fine,” Patrick grumbled, shoving past Pete as he held the door open for Patrick. Pete sighed, climbing into the driver’s side and not turning the engine on.

              “Patrick-” Pete began, his voice heavy and urgent.

              “Look! There’s nothing you can do!” Patrick yelled, slamming his head back into the headrest and instantly regretting it as his head throbbed in response.

              “You got hospitalized!” Pete yelled back. Remorse suddenly flooded Patrick, and he shrank back in the seat reflexively at the raised voice.

              “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice small. Pete looked horrified, and his face scrunched up in pain.

              “Don’t apologize,” he begged. “I mean, yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t lie to me, but this isn’t your fault.”

              Patrick nodded before Pete peeled out of the parking lot too fast, but he didn’t really believe it. If it wasn’t his fault, why was it only him?

              Back at Patrick’s house, Pete curled up next to Patrick, warm and comfortable while they watched old black and white horror movies, and Patrick didn’t even fight Pete as he paid for an extra large pizza and an order of cinna-stix. They hadn’t had a real fight, but in their relationship, raised voices were enough of a reason to tread lightly around one another for the next few days.

              That night, before Pete left, Patrick pulled him in close, breathing in deep the scent of his hair, and finally, finally let himself come apart just a little.

              “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Pete’s ear, hoping he didn’t sound like he was crying, “I don’t want you to worry.”

              “I don’t want there to be anything to worry about,” Pete replied, his voice sounding even more pained than Patrick’s.

***

              No one had been suspended, but Patrick didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. It wasn’t like the stares and glares he got coming into school were odd, but he was hyper-conscious of everything today. People muttered under their breath when he walked high, but Patrick stuck his chin up as high as he could and tried to ignore it.

              Pete sent him a text in English class telling him to stay safe, complete with a smiley face, and Patrick exercised his newly found willpower to not reply in some hilarious yet self-deprecating sarcasm, because it would make his boyfriend sad, and he didn’t want to make Pete sad.

              The whole day went by without a hitch, and gave Patrick a stupid sense of confidence that he _wasn’t_ going to get pummeled today. This was, naturally, destroyed in between the last two classes of the day.

              “Hey, fag!” the familiar voice sounded angrier than usual.

              _Fuck it_ , Patrick thought, and threw all his school supplies in his locker before slamming it shut, cell phone included. He didn’t want any of his personal possessions to get destroyed in what was sure to not be a nasty confrontation.

              “You try to get me suspended?” the jock asked. Patrick held his tongue, shook his head, and tried to walk away, only to be slammed up against his locker.

              “I asked you a question, fag!” he yelled.

              “No, my getting hospitalized made the teachers briefly learn how to use security cameras,” Patrick said, “Follow up question, do you call me a fag because your dad told you to, or because you have a crush on my boyfriend?”

              It was a stupid thing to say, Patrick knew, but he couldn’t resist it. The sucker punch to the stomach hurt, but it was a fair trade for the satisfaction.

              “Little bitch!” someone behind the guy crowed, and Patrick reached up to cover his face a second too late. That one smarted, but black eyes weren’t so bad.

              “Let’s go,” someone said, and, for good measure, kicked Patrick in the side.

              Patrick went to the bathroom and held a cold, damp paper towel on his eye. Not bad. Not bad at all. If he could ditch his last period and get some ice on this, Pete might not even notice.

              The nurse looked pained beyond words to help him cover it up, but gave Patrick the ice he asked for, and Patrick left school at 3:00 trying to act as normal as possible when he climbed into Pete’s car.

              Pete took Patrick out to see a movie, and Patrick tried to be as subtle as possible in sitting with his good, un-kicked side to Pete so that he could cuddle up next to him. Pete’s hand inched its way up Patrick’s thigh, and Patrick’s breath hitched. He leaned in closer, so close he could hear the thrum of Pete’s heartbeat over the too loud action movie.

              Pete’s prying fingers were just undoing his belt when they pressed too hard against his stomach, and Patrick whined in pain, too surprised to bite back the sound. Pete’s eyes jerked up to Patrick’s face, and definitely caught the look of guilt flickering across it.

              “Patrick,” Pete said, sounding disappointed, which hurt far worse than anything else that day had. Patrick looked away and stood up, leaving the theater with Pete close behind him.

              “Talk to me!” Pete yelled.

              “What’s the point?!” Patrick cried. “There’s nothing you can do!”

              “Rick-” Pete began, but Patrick looked away from him childishly, trying not to cry.

              “Just take me home,” he pleaded, and Pete sighed, walking out into the parking lot ahead of Patrick.

              “I love you,” Pete said, pulling up at Patrick’s house.

              “I love you too,” Patrick said, and he pulled Pete into a kiss, harsh and desperate.

              “I’ll tell you next time, okay?” he promised. Pete nodded.

***

              Patrick didn’t like breaking promises, but honestly? Swirlies were way too embarrassing to do anything but hide in the bathroom abusing the hand dryer for the rest of the day to try and look normal.

***

              And getting tripped didn’t count, right? That could easily have been an accident. It wasn’t, but it definitely could have been.

***

              There was, unfortunately, no lie in the book that could cover up a broken arm. If he actually fell down the stairs, Pete wouldn’t have believed him. And of course, Patrick hadn’t fallen, as the bruised chest and bruised jaw were a testament to.

              “This has gone too far,” Pete said.

              “Don’t you dare get yourself arrested!” Patrick said, but he doubted it sounded all that menacing from a hospital bed while he was getting a cast fitted. He was sore all over and cranky and frankly, Pete was making his mood substantially worse.

              “I never said I was gonna get caught,” Pete said darkly.

              “What if I did fall?” Patrick asked. Patrick was a shitty liar, and Pete glared at him.

              “They’ll get tired of me eventually?” he tried again.

              “Not good enough,” Pete said, and made like he was going to leave, but Patrick grabbed his hand, a pained noise escaping his throat.

              “Don’t go!” he pleaded, and Pete instantly sat back on the edge of his bed. He started rubbing circles on Patrick’s good hand with his thumb.

              “Tell me a joke?” Patrick asked.

              “You ever heard the one about the old Irish couple?”

***

              “Yo, gimpy!”

              “Christ, did faggot go out of style?” Patrick asked sourly, not even looking up. “I’ll have to stop sleeping with boys and break my fucking bones more often.”

              They were in the parking lot today, and Patrick almost hoped they would start something. Pete would be around that corner any minute, there were no security cameras…

              “That can be arranged,” one of them said, grinning crookedly. Patrick made a beckoning motion with his good hand, and he heard the all too familiar crack of flesh on flesh before he felt the pain explode across his cheek. To his delight, the sound was closely followed by the screeching of tires.

              “Hey, fuckfaces!” he heard a familiar cry, and Patrick stumbled over to the car, leaning on the hood and breathing deeply for a second, almost as though he had been underwater, before he looked up to watch.

              It wasn’t much of a fight.

              A combination of athletic prowess and belonging to some rough crowds in high school, Pete was more than a match for the three that followed Patrick out to the student lot. Once they were all sufficiently stunned and displaying varying degrees of pain on their faces, Pete rushed back over to Patrick, who threw his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.

              “Hey,” Pete said.

              “Hi,” Patrick giggled, pulling back. “Having fun?”

              “Lots,” Pete said, “But I’m guessing I can’t actually injure them?”

              “Bad idea,” Patrick agreed, kissing Pete on the cheek.

              “Hey!” the soccer coach came around the corner. “Is there a problem out here?”

              “Hey, coach,” Pete called. The old man beamed at Pete fondly before looking quizzical.

              “What are you doing on campus, Wentz?” he asked.

              “Coach at DePaul asked me to scout, see if there were any other good soccer players at my old school,” Pete lied smoothly. He turned his cold gaze to the boys that sought out to make Patrick’s life hell. “But I doubt that he’s interested in bullies, somehow.”

              “Later,” Patrick said to the leader of the gang as he jumped into Pete’s passenger side.

              Pete’s hand drifted over the gearshift and directly into Patrick’s.

              Patrick loved his boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like me as a writer, and you like fall out boy, you should check out The High Way to Hell!


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